


one life

by cryptibs



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Boys Inc., Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, aka comfort but one of them dies right after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptibs/pseuds/cryptibs
Summary: very canon divergence for dream smp :]i really enjoy the first bit of this, so i may write a different ending bc i actually had a different idea for this fic!warnings: cursing, blood, mr. minecraft dies, angst as usualim prolly gonna be posting some more fics i have planned, so expect those decently soon! :D (im @/cryptibs on twt, so follow me there for dumb posts and some updates!)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Kudos: 17





	one life

The stone room was cold.

Signs littered the walls, paranoid words scrawled messily across their wooden fronts.

Wilbur sighed, the sound echoed around the small space.

Far above, yells were heard, muffled beneath the many layers of earth separating the room from the outside. 

Wilbur thought he’d feel different when finally doing this, he thought he’d feel happy, even ecstatic, that his plans were finally coming to reality.

All he felt was impatience, apprehension creeping into his mind. 

He reached a hand out, just wanting this to finally be over, for the final notes of his symphony to be played.

A familiar voice filled the space suddenly.

“What are you doing.”

Wilbur whipped around, abandoning the small wooden button on the wall.

He turned, expecting to be faced with a kind smile as usual, a grin of his own stretching his face uncomfortably. 

Instead, Wilbur was met with cold eyes and a grimace, no kindness or paternal love evident in the figure’s stance.

“Phil?”

“What are you doing, Wil.”

For a moment, the only thing heard was the muffled sounds of fireworks and screams from the surface.

A chuckle, maniacal in a way that sent shivers down Phil’s back, echoed around the space.

“D- do you know what this button is?”

“I do.”

Another question, “Have you heard th- the song? The one on the walls?”

“I have. I have heard it.”

“Then you know, you know there was a special place, where men could- could go.”

“There still is, there's still a special place. It's still here.”

A louder chuckle, then yelled words, scaring the shorter man into stepping back slightly.

“Phil. I’m always SO CLOSE to pressing this button, Phil.”

Hands gripped his shoulders, gloves failing to hide the dirt staining the younger man's calloused hands.

“I have- I’ve been here, seven or eight times! Seven or eight times, Phil.”

“You want to just blow it all up?”

“I- I do. I think I do.”

“But you’ve fought so hard, just to get it back.”

“It's changed. The nations changed, Phil.”

“You’ve changed too, Wil, I didn’t raise you like this.”

The taller man curled over, shoulders shaking painfully with laughter. Phil stepped back even more, worry creasing his brow.

“You- you didn’t even raise me! You didn’t raise me at all!”

The older man flinched back in surprise, hurt flashing in his eyes.

Silence hung heavy in the cold air, betraying unsaid words between the two.

Fabric rustled as Wilbur straightened up, a wide grin stretching his face eerily.

“Do you know the saying, Phil?”

“What? What saying?”

“The one spoken by a traitor,”

“No- no I haven’t-”

Another deranged chuckle bounced off the stone walls.

“It was never meant to be!”

And with that, the brunette spun back around, reaching to press the wooden button implanted into the wall.

A sharp click rang out, followed shortly by the hiss of explosives igniting.

“Oh my god Wil-”

The mad man draped in rags stood before a fallen angel, arms outstretched to his sides, bloodshot eyes shining with power and pain equally.

“My L’manburg, Phil! My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!”

The shout was nearly drowned out by the sounds of explosions, knocking them both back to the far wall of the tiny room.

Screams and yells of surprise were suddenly heard far more clearly, the booms continued on as both figures stood up, looking out over the destruction of what once could be called home.

Phil stumbled back as a grinning face was thrusted in front of his own again, pain clearly overtook the adrenaline of power now, fear and the shock of what he had done finally driving him off the edge of madness.

“Kill me, kill me Phil! Kill me, right here, on this FUCKING ledge! Kill me!”

“I- I can’t!”

“Ju- just stab me, it’s- it’s easy, here!”

A sword was put into his hands shakily, enchantments swirled around the diamond blade, glowing softly in the new light.

Phil nearly threw it down, instead opting to hold it at his front.

“You’re my son! I can’t- I can’t kill you!”

“Just do it! Kill me! I’m evil, I- I’m horrid and mad and all sorts of crazy, I deserve this!”

“Wil, I don’t care if you’ve done this, you’re my son. I can’t- I’ll never kill you.”

A pause, taking a breath, he continued,

“We can fix this.”

“We can’t-”

“Yes. We can. We’ll rebuild, we’ll help you.”

“I don’t deserve help, I hurt so- so many people.”

“They’re still alive, they’re still ok, and you will be too.”

“D- do you promise?”

Phil was suddenly thrown back into a memory, sitting on a creaky bed frame, facing a tucked in young Wilbur. 

“Do y’ promise there's no monsters under the bed Da?”

His hand moved without his knowledge, ruffling the child’s curly hair.

“Of course! Would I ever lie?”

A giggle escaped the kid, clutching the blankets closer to his chin.

Cold wind chilled his bones, bringing Phil back to the present, he was staring at a disheveled older version of the son he once knew so well, unshed tears sparkled in the man’s eyes, threatening to fall.

“Of course I promise. I love you too much to lie, Wil.”

The grin lessened to be a more healthy smile, tears finally dripping freely down dirt stained cheeks. The younger man stumbled forwards, instantly being wrapped up in a hug by the shorter figure.

Peace was finally settling at home. It would take a long time for trust to be regained, and healing would take longer than lifetime, but the explosions had stopped, a father hugged his son, and across a field, a king and a scared child made eye contact, promising to put their arguments on hold until a proper discussion had been had.

A green blob at the corner of his eye moved strangely, the pattern of it growing in size not matching the sway of a bush or tree branch. 

The sound of a weapon being notched, the ping of a crossbow bolt being let loose.

A moment to act, Phil spun around, still clutching his son tight to his chest in a hug.

The thunk of an arrow in his back, the dripping of blood on the stone floor.

A scream of shock and a shout of anger, hands holding him up from falling onto the floor.

Eyes trying to meet his own, fear now shining brightly in deep brown irises.

Swords clashing far away, pain, so much pain filling his mind.

A life taken from a father protecting his son. 

Only one life in this world. No second chances.


End file.
